


Terribly Predictable

by FaeOrabel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Oliver Wood, But in the good way, Cheeky Oliver, Dumbledore's Armada's Make It Quidditch Flash Fic Fest, Explicit Sexual Content, Flash Fiction Comp, Gay Marcus Flint, Gay Oliver Wood, Gay Sex, M/M, Male Slash, POV Oliver Wood, Promise of future sex, Quidditch, Slash, Standing Sex, Surprise Sex, Top Marcus Flint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27827698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeOrabel/pseuds/FaeOrabel
Summary: When Oliver teases Marcus Flint one too many times on the Quidditch Pitch, Flint will prove to the man that he isn't as terribly predictable as Oliver thinks he is.
Relationships: Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood
Comments: 12
Kudos: 150
Collections: Make it... Quidditch!





	Terribly Predictable

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [quiddich_flashfic2](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/quiddich_flashfic2) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Opposing Team Captains
> 
> Written for Make It... Quidditch Comp for Dumbledore's Armada's Discord Server. 
> 
> Thank you Hslades for hosting such a fun comp!!!

**Terribly Predictable**

* * *

Oliver hovered in front of the three goalposts as he watched the opposing team fly down the pitch. They passed off the ball several times, and his team still didn’t make an interception. He made a note to work on that during practice this week. Thankfully, the Quaffle ended up in  _ his _ hands once again right before they made it to his end of the field. Oliver still thought he was the most predictable man he’d ever met. 

The other player feinted to the right and threw as hard as he could to the left, but Oliver saw it coming and was already on his way to the left-hand goal. Knocking the ball away with the bristles of his broom, his teammate caught it and sped off to the opposing team’s goals. 

Oliver sent Flint a smirk as he hesitated before following Oliver’s team to try and get possession of the Quaffle again. 

It was the tenth throw from Flint that Oliver had blocked this scrimmage. Oliver could tell he was starting to get annoyed after the third one. Flint was absolutely livid now. 

Oliver didn’t care though; the man was downright sexy when he was mad. That observation was also something he remembered from school. Oliver loved antagonising Flint all throughout school because he was just so  _ easy _ to get angry. And when Flint was angry, he would curl his lip just so, clench his fists, and a shudder would run down his spine that was just delicious to watch. 

Oliver also couldn’t help but notice how attractive Flint looked in the Falcon’s colours. He had seen Flint in grey—or ‘silver’ as the Slytherin liked to correct him—plenty of times in school, but the man was an absolute vision in white. 

Oliver watched as his team scored yet another goal, but was almost knocked off his broom by both team’s Seeker’s barrelling past him from behind. They chased the snitch all the way to the ground and flew right above it across the length of the pitch. Oliver was so engrossed in the chase that he didn’t even notice the Falcon’s had made their way back again. Flint scored his first goal on Oliver finally. But then the ending horn sounded, and Oliver saw his Seeker holding the snitch aloft in celebration. 

The announcer called the win. 

Oliver looked over at Flint, who was still hovering near his goals and smirked once more. 

“Better luck next time, Flint,” Oliver called with a wink.

Flint practically growled in response, and Oliver’s body did funny things from the sound. 

He quickly flew down to the locker room before he made a mess of his pants just from the sight of the other man. 

Oliver took a deep breath when he landed and walked swiftly to his locker room. His team was already in the midst of changing and packing up when he entered. Giving them a quick congratulations all around, mentioning what they would be practising on that week, and smacking the Seeker on the back, Oliver sent them on their way. He’d gotten less verbose since leaving school and finally becoming the Puddlemere Captain.

He was the only one on his team to enjoy their locker room showers, all the rest of them opting just to use their own at home since they were only a quick Floo away from their stadium. They all lived close by since it was a stipulation in their contracts for joining the team. 

Oliver put his things in his locker and started shucking off his sweaty uniform. With a wave of his hand, he caught his favourite huge bath towel as it flew toward him. He took a languorous shower with the hot water as high as it would go without burning his skin off. 

Steam pooling out of the door around him, Oliver entered the central area of the locker room to a surprise waiting for him.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Flint?” Oliver asked, unconcerned about his lack of clothing, wrapped in only a towel around his waist. 

“How?” Flint grunted.

“You’ll have to be more specific, Flint. How do I look so good in just a towel? How do I get my hair dry so quickly? How do I—”

“How do you block my throws  _ every fucking time _ ?” Flint asked.

“Oh, quite a mouth you have there, Flint. Now I see why you were perfect for the Falmouth Falcons,” Oliver winked. 

“Just answer the damn question, Wood,” Flint groaned. 

Oliver sent another signature smirk as he walked toward Flint, who was unknowingly standing right in front of his locker. Flint’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch, and he surprised even himself when his back hit the lockers as Oliver got so close he could feel the other man’s breath on his lips.

“You’re predictable, Flint,” Oliver whispered. 

Going from surprise to indignation so quickly, he would’ve gotten whiplash, Flint furrowed his eyebrows and pushed Oliver back a step. Oliver resolutely ignored that the heat of Flint’s hands rivalled the water in which he’d just showered. 

“What the fuck do you mean, I’m predictable?” Flint exclaimed, advancing on Oliver this time. 

“I said what I meant, and I meant what I said. Ever since we were in school together, I’ve been able to predict your moves. Ergo, you’re predictable, Marcus,” Oliver let Flint’s first name fall off his lips sinfully. 

There was barely anything to notice, but Oliver saw the smallest reaction from Flint at the use of his name. It was these minute reactions that Oliver had become fluent in over the years that told him what Flint was going to do every time before he did it. 

But even Oliver wouldn’t have been able to see what was coming next. 

“I’ll show you fucking  _ predictable _ ,” Flint muttered and slammed Oliver up against the opposite row of lockers. 

Oliver figured the man was going to punch him, but what he actually did was oh, so, much better. 

Flint crashed his lips to Oliver’s, completely throwing every fantasy Oliver had ever had of this moment out the window. It was even better than he ever could have imagined. 

Flint dominated the entirety of the kiss, shoving his tongue past Oliver’s lips, burying his hands in Oliver’s hair, and grinding his hips against Oliver’s  _ very hard _ groin. Oliver’s whimper and following moan was not a sound he expected to come from his mouth. One of Flint’s hands slid down his body and tugged the towel just enough for it to fall to the ground. He then immediately gripped Oliver’s cock tightly and pumped it twice, causing Oliver to slam the back of his head against the lockers and his eyes to roll back inside his head. 

“Holy fuck, Flint,” Oliver groaned. 

“Marcus.”

“What?” Oliver opened his eyes and looked into Flint’s face. 

“Marcus. I liked it when you called me Marcus,” Flint whispered, folding their lips together once more. 

This time, Oliver was an active participant in the kiss. His arms wrapped around Marcus’s neck, and his legs came up as Marcus pushed him back into the lockers once more. Oliver used his feet to make Marcus’s Quidditch trousers and pants fall to the floor. 

A whispered spell and Oliver yelped in surprise as he felt slick in his most private area. 

“Oh sorry, did I surprise you?” Marcus chuckled and latched on to Oliver’s neck. 

“Oh Merlin,” Oliver loudly moaned as Marcus left a deep bruise on the side of his throat as he lined his hips up with Oliver’s entrance. 

In one smooth thrust, Marcus was fully seated inside of Oliver, and both froze as they tensed up at the connection. Melting into each other, Marcus grasped Oliver’s hips as he picked him up and dropped him once more, creating a thrusting motion that both of them could enjoy. Marcus thrust upwards as he pulled Oliver down in time. And soon, both men were working together to make the sound of skin on skin echo throughout the room. Pushing Oliver back harder against the lockers so that he wouldn’t drop him, Marcus took one hand from his hip and wrapped it around his cock once more. 

Pumping his cock in time with their thrusts, Oliver was quickly coming undone from Marcus’s ministrations. They both exploded at the same time, groaning loudly in harmony. Unable to hold them up any longer, Marcus’s legs shuddered as he slowly brought them to the floor. They somehow stayed connected as Oliver sat on Marcus’s lap, and Marcus’s legs splayed out beneath them. 

“Fucking hell, Marcus,” Oliver twitched, enjoying the fullness still stretching him. 

Marcus sighed contentedly, “How was that for predictable, Wood?”

“Oliver.”

Marcus pulled back from burying his face in the junction between Oliver’s shoulder and neck, “Oliver.”

“That was… amazing,” Oliver moaned with a smile, kissing Marcus’s nose. 

Marcus bucked his hips, chuckling under his breath. “What are you doing on Saturday?”

“I have another scrimmage against this wanker I like,” Oliver chuckled in return. 

“Yeah, but after that?”

“I think I’m taking that wanker out to dinner and then inviting him home with me so he can completely surprise me once more by ravaging me on every single surface of my flat,” Oliver bit his lip hopefully. 

Marcus leaned in and pulled Oliver’s lip out from between his teeth with his own. He nipped lightly and then kissed away the sting. “I think that sounds terribly predictable and positively agreeable.”

They smiled as they kissed once more before cleaning up with a few waves of their wands and walking out of the locker room, fully clothed, and hand-in-hand. 

  
  



End file.
